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“I asked them not to. It was only for emergencies.”
“I see. You chose not to include me in this loss?” For all his effort, the feelings would not be contained. “You chose not to do me the courtesy of advising me that I’d lost a child?”
“A son,” she murmured. “He would have been a boy.”
Carlo reeled, his whole world tipping off its axis. “You kept it from me. Even now, you intended to keep this grief from me.”
“What would the point have been in telling you? Believe it or not, I thought I was doing you a favour. That I was saving you from that unimaginable pain I was going through.” Her voice cracked with guilt. “I felt like a failure, okay?” She sobbed, and pushed away from the wall.
“A failure?”
“Because I lost our baby. God, I hadn’t even known I was pregnant. I was so disconnected from the baby that I had no idea it was inside me.” All she had been able to think about was missing Carlo. Grieving their marriage. “What kind of awful mother would I have made?”
He wouldn’t have been human if he didn’t feel sadness for her. But it was eclipsed by anger, and also rage, fury and pain. “You had no damned right to make that choice.”
Her eyes glistened with tears. “I’m so sorry, Carlo.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just… I can’t ever go through that again. I can’t believe we slept together without protection. I swore I would never risk that.”
Carlo compressed his lips. “It’s done. If there are any consequences, we will face them together. You will not keep me out of something like that again.”
“If I hadn’t lost the baby, I would have told you. You make it sound like I intentionally kept my pregnancy from you.”
His expression showed how close her summation had come to his feelings. “I’m not an expert in child birth,” he said finally. “But I find it hard to believe you could be so far into a pregnancy and not know.”
How many times had Jane thought that of herself? How had she missed the signs? In hindsight, they’d all been there. Sore breasts, aching back, a constant nausea. But she’d been grieving the loss of her marriage. Every day had felt like a marathon to be got through. Mornings that started early, and seemed to drag by in an infinitesimal and never-ending cloud of despair. She’d wallowed and she’d mourned and she’d paid no attention to anything her body was feeling. What was physical discomfort when her heart was breaking? What were dates on a calendar, that might have marked a missed cycle, when every day felt like just another enormous hurdle to be crossed?
“I know,” she whispered, her voice cracking in the space of the bedroom. “I can hardly believe it myself. Looking back, it makes no sense. But at the time, I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
His face paled beneath his golden tan. “Because of me.”
“Because of our divorce,” she nodded. “I thought all the symptoms were just a sign of how unhappy I was.”
He groaned, and dragged angry fingers through his hair. “If you were unhappy when you left me, why did you do it? Why not stay?”
“Because I was even less happy here. Marriage to you was like a slow form of torture. Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever done, but at least it gave me a chance to rebuild my life. And I have done.” Damn it, she’d almost been over him, when he’d reappeared, taking control all over again.
“Have you?” He challenged. His posture was deceptively relaxed, as he reclined his frame against the opposite wall. He fixed her with a direct, black stare. “Tell me about this new life of yours.”
She angled her face away from his inquisitive eyes, to hide the hurt she knew she wore on her dainty features. “It’s not your business.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“Fine.” She turned back to face him, her blue eyes stormy. “You tell me about your life now and I’ll repay you in kind.”
“My life?”
“Yes.”
“My life is as it ever was,” he said with arrogant simplicity.
She could well believe it. Marriage hadn’t made a dent in his social life, so why should divorce?
“So is mine, then,” she responded sharply.
He knew so much of her movements, and he refused to pretend that was not the case. The only information he didn’t have pertained to her private life. While no serious boyfriends or lovers were in evidence, that did not mean she wasn’t seeing anyone. That she hadn’t had a string of lovers. It only meant that she didn’t bring them to her house.
He knew he had one certain way of compelling her to answer his questions. To respond truthfully to the jealous and possessive knowledge he craved. “And tell me, Jane, have there been other men?” He put a hand around her neck, curling it across the fine hairs there, as he pulled her close to him. “Have there been men who make your body quiver, like it does now, in my arms?”
“I’m shaking because I hate you,” she responded weakly, wishing and willing herself to feel that. Anything but the deep knot of desire that was making her insides churn.
